


You Don't Fool Me (Or Do You?)

by killerjoe1995



Series: Froger works [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Brian is having fun, Day 7 prompt - Office AU, First Meetings, Freddie and Roger are adorable bastrards, Freddie and Roger are made for each other, Froger Week 2019, Humor, Job Interview, M/M, One Night Stands, kinda that they don't get to reach the office at all, your office AU... revisited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 19:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerjoe1995/pseuds/killerjoe1995
Summary: Roger stormed in the company hall, striding directly to the reception. The poor kid behind the counter widened his eyes.“Hello, I'm Roger Taylor. I had an appointment at 8.30 for a job interview, and I know that I'm late but...”.The guy held out an hand.“Sorry, Mister, but your turn skipped”.Roger took a deep breath. It was no use to scream just now.Behind John Deacon the wall was so shiny to reflect, creating a pretty surrogate of a mirror. And just behind Roger there was...The blond pivoted on his heels and stared. It couldn't be possible.In front of him, the one and only Freddie Mercury stared back, offering a sheepish smile.*A one night stand the night before an important job interview is the best plan to relieve the stress... right? RIGHT?
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: Froger works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539526
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Froger!Week 2019





	You Don't Fool Me (Or Do You?)

**Author's Note:**

> My last contribution to Froger Week :)  
Prompt office AU really interpretated, though xD
> 
> As a note, before the story. This is inspired by a corto (of which I don't remember the title). However, is an exaggeration of the italian unemployment situation, in which everyone are ready to do just about *everything* for a job... So yeah. It's exaggerated for fun, though. 
> 
> As always, no native english speaker and not betaed. If you spot something horrific, let me know :)

**Kensington, 9 November 11.50 pm**

Freddie entered the pub with the bold attitude that characterised his personality. It was late in the evening, and the room was empty save for the one usual drunken patron and the young bartender.  
The guy at the other side of the counter looked directly at him, and Freddie took a sharp intake of breath. It was him.

Long blond hair in a messy bun and big, piercing, baby blue eyes.

Absolutely _sinful. _

Those pretty pink lips opened slightly, and Freddie smirked. He _knew_ he had made an impression.

“Sorry mate, we're closing”.

Far from impressed, and definitely not concerned, Freddie sauntered to the counter. He took a seat and offered the blond a charming smile.

“It was a long day, gorgeous. What about a beer? Tell you what, I'll pay one to you too, and we can share the most interesting five minutes of you day” he proposed, unashamedly. The blond's eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“Sure man, if you're paying...”

**Kensington, 10 November 1 am**

Freddie slammed the blond against the door, kissing him deeply. The blond boy – Roger – answered in kind, tilting his head to give Freddie more room. Their tongues battled for dominance, hands ripping the fabric of their shirts, arms tightening around one another.

A great finale for a shitty day, all in all.

Freddie's hands wandered to Roger's ass, squeezing the firm flesh, and the blond moaned into the kiss. Freddie swallowed the sound with a breathy sigh.

“Show me your room, Blondie” the dark haired man whispered. Roger, cheeks already flushed red, took his partner's hand and moved quickly to the bedroom.

**Kensington, 10 November 1.30 pm**

Freddie lied down, a satisfied expression on his face. Roger was next to him, still on his stomach, still panting slightly for their activities. Freddie rolled on his side to place an arm around the blond's waist, and placed a sweet, chaste, kiss on his mouth. Oh that mouth was a real treasure, truly. The _things_ he could do with that. Roger hummed softly, returning the kiss with a small peck of his own.

“Still in the land of the living, darling?”

The blond huffed, but couldn't help his smile.

“You're pretty self-confident, you know? At least you delivered”.

Freddie let out an amused chuckle, letting his hand travel on the blond's back, to his shoulders, then down again to his ass. Another great asset of the blond, that one.

“You weren't bad yourself, dear. That pretty mouth of yours should have insurance” he returned the compliment, kissing the blond again. What a shame that this was a one-night-stand, he could get used to Roger. Freddie's hand found a comfortable position on Roger's ass-cheek, and began kneading the flesh. Roger opened one eye, amused.

“Haven't had enough?”

Freddie grinned, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Satisfaction is just a fleeting sensation, dear” he offered, trailing his hand between Roger's ass-cheeks and caressing lightly the blond's hole. Roger squirmed, and giggled.

“Enough, you beast. I can't stay up too late, I'm busy tomorrow morning. Final job interview with a fucking serious company. I have the opportunity to leave the shithole in which we met” the blond said with an air of finality. He rolled over the bedside table an setted his alarm. Freddie looked at him with a fond smile.

“I wish you luck, lovely. Should I go?” the dark haired man asked. He was pretty comfortable in the crisp, warm sheets. Roger yawned, and shook his head.

“Nah, it's late. Make yourself at home” Roger assured, sinking gratefully into the bedding. They should clean up, honestly, but he couldn't be bothered. Neither could Freddie, apparently, because he shuffled back and rested his head on the pillow.

“But tomorrow at dawn I'll kick you out. I have my interview”.

Roger shut the light, and Freddie plastered himself on the blond's back like an octopus, spooning him. Roger let out a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes. What a great evening, perfect for taming the stress.

**Kensington, 10 November 8.57 am**

Roger opened his eyes, still a bit groggy with sleepiness. Slightly confused, he reached out an arm to the other side of the bed, just to find it empty. Probably Freddie had already let himself out... but something wasn't right. For one, the light coming from the curtain was a bit too intense.

A dreadful feeling creeping into his chest, Roger unlocked the phone screen and, honest to god, _screamed_.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck” he muttered to himself. He was _late_, god fucking dammit! Thirty minutes late! He couldn't believe it, why the fuck didn't his alarm work?

Roger's next twenty minutes were a frenzy. He showered in Olympic record time, without even dry his hair. He glanced at his wardrobe, choosing a good enough outfit, that gived good but not too serious employee vibes, and put on his Adidas – better leave the sparkly pink converse to other avenues. All the while, trying his best to think at a introductory phrasing that could give him some points, considering that he was _fucking late_.

“Hello, I'm Roger Taylor. I'm a bit late, yeah, I'm so sorry for that”.

He wrestled his trousers up, battling with the black belt and nearly whipping himself on the groin with the damned thing.

“Hi, I'm Roger Taylor, I'm late but I have a reason for my lack of punctuality”.

He snorted while shoving his arms in the shirt sleeves, risking to rip the poor thing apart. A fucking good reason, he had, a one-night-stand just the night before because 'Why not? He's Roger Taylor and he can do no wrong'.

“I'm Roger Taylor, and I'm late! Yeah, so? Is not like I can do something about that now! Can I?”.

Hum, maybe taming down the aggressive attitude a bit, just in case.

He practically flew from the flat like a tornado, leaving behind only destruction. A problem for later, when he would have – _hopefully_ – obtained the job.

**The City, 10 November 9.37 am**

Roger stormed in the company hall, striding directly to the reception. The poor kid behind the counter widened his eyes.

“Hello, I'm Roger Taylor. I had an appointment at 8.30 for a job interview, and I know that I'm late but...”.

The guy held out an hand.

“Sorry, Mister, but your turn skipped”.

Roger took a deep breath. It was no use to scream just now. He eyed the guy ID plate.

“Listen, Mr... Deacon. John. I had an appointment, and I had a _little_ problem with my alarm, but you have to...”. Roger trailed off, and his eyes widened like saucers. Behind John Deacon the wall of the reception point was so shiny to reflect, creating a pretty surrogate of a mirror. And just behind Roger there was...

The blond pivoted on his heels and _stared_. It couldn't be possible.

In front of him, the one and only Freddie Mercury stared back, offering a sheepish smile.

“You...” Roger growled, low and dangerous. Freddie swallowed. The blond advanced threateningly, and Freddie held up his hands.

“Wait, wait just a second. First, I too am looking for a job quite desperately” he began, taking a step back. To say that Roger wasn't impressed was the understatement of the _year._

“So?” he rasped out, eyes narrowed. All in all, he looked scary.

“So, I too have an interview for this job position this morning” Freddie went on, “I found out who were the other candidates and that _you_ were the favourite for the position” he offered to the astonished blond. Roger growled again.

“You 'found out'. How?” he half-asked, half-demanded. Freddie shrugged.

“Well...”

_ **Twickenham, 9 November 9.30 pm** _

_Freddie took a seat on the black sedan. The guy, named Prenter, offered him a filthy grin. Freddie swallowed his disgust and held out a parcel full of all the money he had. Prenter took it and gave him in exchange a folder. _

“_There are all the candidates, I highlighted the favourite. There is his cellphone number and the address of the pub in which he works” he elaborated, counting the money. Freddie nodded, a certain Roger Taylor. Good resume, and good looks too. _

“_Remember, you have to destroy the proof. Did you hear me? Destroy them” Prenter demanded, adamant. Freddie nodded. _

“_Sure. I'll burn everything and eat the ashes, no worries”. _

_Two hours later, he entered the pub. The plan went smoothly, and he was able to find the blond and seduce him. It was child play to turn off Roger's alarm while the blond was sleeping like a baby, and then leaving the room just before seven. _

“...and that's it”. Freddie, hands still on guard, chanced a look at the blond. Roger looked _murderous_.

“So let me take it straight: you slept with me just to steal my job? What kind of fucked up person are you?” Roger exclaimed, barely restraining himself from punching the fucker on his too prominent teeth. Freddie was ready to reply.

“No, no, that wasn't the plan, really. I just wanted to... look at you, study the enemy. But then... I found out that I really like you, darling” he confessed with a small smile. Roger raised his eyebrows.

“Sure. You like me so much that you turned off my alarm to _make me loose my fucking interview_” he spit out, his voice increasing in volume without him noticing. Freddie's smile was whipped from his face in a heartbeat.

“Yes, well, I'm sorry for this low blow, really. But darling, see, the job is just one, and not everyone can win” he tried to mollify the blond, without too much results. Roger was ready to kick him to the ground.

“Mr. Mercury, it's your turn”.

Saved in corner by the young receptionist. Freddie took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I'm ready. I'm...” he trailed off, sidestepping Roger. The blond didn't say a word but looked at Freddie till he couldn't see him any more, a thoughtful look on his pretty face.

“Good morning Mr. Mercury, please take a seat”.

Freddie fell on the office couch with a gracious move. The curly haired employee seemed young, and friendly. He just had to hope for the best.

“Can you hand me your updated curriculum vitae, please?” the man asked, and Freddie already had an hand in his briefcase.

“Sure thing, here Mr...”. The curly man took it and put on a pair of glasses.

“Brian May. A pleasure” he answered, attention already focused on Freddie's resume. He flipped through the pages, eyebrow raising. Freddie swallowed, nervous.

“I see that you're fluent in quite a lot of languages” Mr. May commented, raising his head. Freddie nodded.

“Yes, sure. I'm fluent in English and Parsi, and I can hold a conversation in French...” Freddie trailed off at Mr. May gesture.

“I read, verbatim: I speak fluently all the major Indo-European languages, to which must be added Patois, Assyrian, Burmese, Pasthun, Kicongo and Kikabaka. Where Kikabaka is spoken, exactly?” Mr. May asked, and Freddie was at a loss. He shrugged.

“I... have no idea?” he offered, confused. Was it a trick question?

“Always from his resume, I read that... you invented penicillin?”. Mr. May was still polite, but a bit disbelieving. Freddie scrambled to deny, what the fuck was wrong with his curriculum?

“And also, that one of your hobby is pornography. How do you... practice this hobby, precisely?”. Now Mr. May was just enjoying himself at Freddie's expense, there was no denying that. Freddie's could feel sweat pooling in his shirt collar, what the hell?

“I'm sorry, Mr. May, there must be a mistake...” he began, hand reaching to take back his resume. Mr. May held tight.

“Excuse me, are you Freddie Mercury?” he asked. Freddie could only nod.

“And... this one in the picture is you, yes?” Mr. May asked again, showing Freddie's the first page of his CV. A picture of Freddie in full drag, with red lipstick and hoop earrings, looked back at him. Freddie stared, stunned and a bit mortified. As much as he wanted to, there was no denying that the man on the photo was Freddie himself. Freddie stared a minute at the picture, and then back at Mr. May.

“I...”

_ **Kensington, November 10, 2.30 am** _

_Roger woke up suddenly, without a real reason. He glanced at his one night stand, Freddie still snoring softly, face smashed into the pillow. He ran an hand through his hair, fluffing the blond locks. He better get back to sleep, he had to do a good impression in the morning. _

_He was just going to lean down again that a professional looking folder, mixed with Freddie's belonging, caught his attention. He get up from the bed, careful to not wake up the dark haired man, and took the folder. _

_Inside there was a resume. A good one, but not impressive. On a post-it attached to the folder, a date and an address. The same company which Roger had an interview with. _

_The blond looked at his sleeping companion, wondering how the hell he managed to pick up a fucking rival to the job position, in all London. That was some kind of fucked up luck. _

_Or maybe... a blessing in disguise? _

_Roger glanced at Freddie, and then at the resume. Then, he smirked. _

_He seated at his pc and started a word formatted page. He was sure he could add some... creativity to Freddie's curriculum. And surely a guy that flamboyant had some kind of incriminating picture on Instagram. Better check Facebook too, just to be sure. _

_Kikabaka... sounded like a Polynesia language to him. _

“...am. I am Freddie Mercury, yeah”.

No point in denying the obvious, after all.

Freddie reached the company hall on slightly unsteady legs. Roger was still there, staring at him challenging. Freddie scowled back, indignant. Tension was running high between the two, and John Deacon was tempted to call security, just to be safe. Freddie's eyes narrowed while studying the smug blond. That fucking piece of shit, little cheater, smart, bastard, gorgeous...

Without a word the two collided, mouths smashing together.

They were made for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Did it make you laugh, just a bit? Please leave a comment if you liked it, I need validation :)


End file.
